AN: VIOLENCE WARNING If that offends/frightens you, skip this part and go to the next. You'll be able to follow the story.

Part Seven

At first, she thought it was a dream.

A nightmare.

But there was something too real, too horrifying, too hideous for even Olivia's damaged psyche to provide.

The weight on top of her was very real and very heavy. Between it and the shock, she couldn't breathe for a moment. Instead of a scream, she could only force out a tiny, hoarse yelp. And all it did was serve to get his attention.

She'd thought waking up to the crushing weight of a man atop her was terrifying. But that was before he looked at her. The room was dark, leaving most of his figure in shadow, but the small bit of light that shone around the edges of the shades allowed her to see the blackness that made up his face. There were two large, pale rimmed eyes and then nothingness. She almost thought it really was a dream when she tried to understand the faceless monster above her. Until she realized it was a ski mask, hiding every identifiable feature on him, except for his wide, icy blue eyes.

His weight shifted and she realized he'd already peeled back her covers. She could feel his body, hard and muscled, moving against her in a grotesque caricature of sex. His erection was pressing against her belly as he tried to maneuver his hands under her clothes.

She was already at a terrible disadvantage, having left her gun in the living room for the first time in years. She was still fuzzy from the wine. But she recognized that she had precious little time before it was too late. He was concentrating on her clothes, tearing her cotton shirt apart, probably thinking she was too scared to scream.

She was too scared to do anything else. She opened her mouth and let out a blood-curling scream, that she hoped to god woke every last one of her neighbors. Her best chance of escape was to get someone else's attention. As soon as her breath ran out, she took another, ready to scream again.

But he hadn't liked that. He reached out into the darkness, swinging with all his might, delivering a blow that surely would have knocked her off her feet. Her cheek was on fire and the hand he'd clamped over her mouth did nothing to alleviate the pain. His hand was there, right below her nose, filling her nostrils with a strong, undeniably male scent. A scent that seemed so familiar she didn't even notice it in her panic.

With her option for screaming gone, she tried moving instead. She knew how the story went for rape victims, she knew how they usually stopped fighting to save their own lives. But she couldn't stop struggling, not even if he killed her. He'd have to, she decided, he'd have to fucking kill her before she let him rape her. So she fought, kicking and pushing, fighting the immense weight of him, shoving at his strength. Every time he shifted, she felt his arousal, heard his groan of appreciation, and it only made her fight harder.

She dug at him with her nails, bucked and fought, and while he was still trying to hold her mouth closed, he lost his balance on top of her. She knew she had an incredible chance that wasn't likely to be repeated as he shifted to the side, knocking against her bedside table and sending stuff flying onto the floor. So she found strength she didn't know she had, pulling herself away from him and running for the hall.

As soon as his hands were off her, she screamed again, out of breath from the struggle and physically uncoordinated from sleep, she just kept screaming. Her sheet had tangled around one of her legs and it tripped her, stealing a second she didn't have to lose as she righted herself in the hallway. She could hear him lumbering behind her, eerily silent except for his panting, chasing her. Scream after scream came from her mouth.

She knew, as soon as she reached the living room, that she wouldn't make it to the door. He was too close, too tall, his long limbs making up more room than she could stand to lose, smashing through an end table and lamp in his way. She could only hope that her neighbors were awake by then, registering her terror, calling for help. She could only hope that she'd still be alive by the time help got there.

He grabbed her hair first, a huge fist closing around her head, yanking so sharply that her scream cut off abruptly. She swung to fight him, but he was ready for her, shoving aside her arm like her muscles were nothing at all. His hands shoved at her shoulders while his foot twisted behind her ankles, sending her falling to the floor. She hit so hard it knocked the wind right out of her, but he apparently wasn't satisfied that she wouldn't scream again.

He hit her again, his fist somehow striking against the same spot on her cheek, causing stars to explode behind her eyes. His other hand moved, clutching at her throat, squeezing until she had to stop doing anything except fighting for consciousness. She could feel herself losing it. Although she was spread eagle on the floor, she felt weightless, like she was floating.

She knew she wasn't going to be awake for the rape and she wanted to be thankful.

But she was pissed off that she'd wake up from it. She'd rather be dead.

And so, with the last bit of strength she had, she lifted her arm, grabbing at the top of his mask, pulling at it the same as he was pulling at her pajama pants.

He pushed at her hand, trying to break her grip on the fabric, but she'd sooner die than not be able to identify the man who was trying to destroy her.

And somehow, that idea got through his crazed attack. He clutched at the bottom of the mask, keeping it down against his throat as she pulled. A punch landed against her stomach, causing her to loosen her hold as she shrieked in pain. But rather than claiming his prize for having overpowered her, the bastard ran.